What If...

The MCU

He motions shortly to his friend, who relieves my mouth the burden of his stifling hand. "Name?" Captain Rogers commands in that domineering tone all avengers carry. 

"I think you already know the answer to that."

He smiles—it isn't friendly. "You will find out very quickly that I do not respond well to disobedience." I receive a well-aimed kick to the back of my knees from Barnes that forces me to the ground, leaving me kneeling before the captain. He crouches down to maintain eye level, but there is no mistaking that his position holds great power over me. "Name and number. Now."

I grit my teeth. "Allegra Hansley: 0749."

"Crime?"

I can not control the sneer that elbows out my dread, twisting upon my face as I am forced to peer up at Captain America's smirking face. "Gene mutation," I practically spit. 

His eyes rake my form—it almost makes me uncomfortable, the way his blue orbs trail over me. "You dyed your hair," he notes, a brow raising. "Clever."

I am reduced to pitifully glaring at the man before me, worried that a run of the mouth or a slip of the tongue will spell my demise. What could he possibly know about me? 

Did that file he read tell him of the bone chilling nightmare that is my reality? Of the countless identities I have kept to preserve this state of being alive. Of my fear of conviction for the crime of existing. Of the mutants who are hunted in the night—how I hear them all as I slip into an unconscious state, no willpower to prevent the waves from being translated.

"Your abilities are under-developed," he says, grasping my chin and tilting it to one side, bringing my head with it. "But they could prove useful to our cause."

I laugh humorlessly, wild red locks falling into my face. He brushes them away tenderly. "I will never help you."

"Why don't we just kill her, pal? She's more trouble than she's worth," the winter soldier drawls from behind me, and I tense at his casual lilt. He would feel no remorse for my death.

Captain Rogers ignores his friend, eyes capturing mine once again. "You do not want to die, do you Allegra?" He speaks slowly, as if he is negotiating with a toddler, rather than a grown woman.

At his patronizing tone, my compliance is short lived. "You heartless monsters are the reason people like me live in fear of the future—my friends, my family are all dead because of you. I would rather die than betray them!" I burst out, the words spilling over faster than I can contain them.

His gaze hardens. "Would you?"

It is easy—I suppose—to be brave when death is right before you, but when he raises his scythe for the final blow, sinners fall and repent. I am not so confident this time. "Y-yes."

A moment of weakness he pounces on. "No, I don't think so. You want to live, because deep down, you know you deserve this fate. Why fight it?" He stands abruptly, turning to face the somber assassin. "A couple weeks in the compound before we sort her out. Ross will want to review her file..." 

Rogers doesn't even finish before a sharp blow to the head sends me quaking, light spots dancing in front of my eyes as I slump forward, embracing the darkness like an old friend. 

Meanwhile, the stars judge harshly from above. 

This time, I do not mind their glittering.

☪︎ ☪︎ ☪︎

I wake to a dimly lit cell, groaning from the lingering pain in my head. I will be lucky if I only have a concussion. Cuts and scrapes litter my trembling form, and as I survey myself intently, my brows raising when I realize that my abdomen and wrists have been bandaged up.